


To You I Bestow (Repaying a Debt)

by unicorngirl



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Banter, Clint is a Smart Ass, Crossover, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Repaying Debts, Secret Life of John Watson, So Secret Not Even He Knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:06:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1189656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicorngirl/pseuds/unicorngirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knows something is wrong as soon as he wakes. Being tied to a chair is never a good thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To You I Bestow (Repaying a Debt)

**Author's Note:**

> Had a strange dream where this happened. Had to get it out of my system... I'm not 100% certain on everything - my knowledge of Black Widow and the Red Room is limited... So, maybe this is more of a what if? Either way, it was surprisingly fun to write...

The light above John burned like a spotlight. He blinked his eyes weakly and tipped his face forward until the ropes around his midsection tugged tightly. Sweat dripped uncomfortably down his neck and he swallowed back the taste of bile. 

The cracked concrete floor beneath him felt rough against his bare feet. He watched his toes flex weakly; three on the left foot were mottled purple and yellow.

Broken. 

Metal shrieked against metal behind him as un-oiled hinges engaged. The heavy door opened and closed with a groan and click. A woman’s heels clicked loudly and John kept his face turned down as she passed. 

Where was he? He flicked his gaze to her before quickly glancing away.

The thick long coat she wore matched the whispery white of John’s breath. A ridiculously furred hat covered her hair; a sliver of red showed at the bottom. 

“This is a terrible idea.” The man just on the edge of John’s view spoke. He’d been there, working quietly and ignoring John, for as long as John had been awake. 

She rested a hip against a table, the only piece of furniture in the room, and leaned her head back enough to expose a stripe of pale skin. 

“It’s fine. We’re mostly done.” She answered. Both spoke with a flat American accent. John carefully flexed his swollen fingers. They’d been bound so long he could barely feel them. “You know what Dr. Skien said. Without maintenance-”

“I know.” The man interrupted impatiently. “I get it. I’m here, right? I’m helping, right? No one else would agree to this idiotic plan.” A weighted silence filled the room. “It is idiotic, don’t tell me it isn’t. If you really thought it wasn’t, why the hell couldn’t we have stayed in London? I’m cold as hell.”

A dark scarf and hat hid all but the man’s eyes. He scratched at his covered nose with bandaged fingers. 

They were cold? John had molten lava flowing through his veins. 

John’s brain tripped and tangled as his brain caught up. He wasn't in London? His gaze jerked around the small one room structure. He took in the bare lighting, dirty floor, and reassessed the ache in his bones. How long had he been here?

“You know why it wouldn’t work. Did you want to get caught immediately? Did you want to have to explain this to Fury?” She picked up a syringe filled with something clear. “Is this the last of it?”

“Yeah.” He huffed the word and shifted his weight. “After this, just some follow up to make sure it all sticks. And you’re sure it’s him? Like, sure sure? Cause, he doesn’t seem… he’s a doctor, right? Solves crimes?” 

Her eyes dropped to John . She was younger than he’d originally thought, smooth skinned and bright eyed.

“I’m sure. He’s been out for a while. Years.”

“Um,” John’s voice surprised him. It sounded as if he’d spent days at a rock concert or giving lectures. He struggled to lean away from them but his numb limbs refused to work properly. His chair skidded once and he fought to stay balanced. “Not to interrupt, but I think you’ve made a mistake. We haven’t met.”

“Of course I haven’t met you.” She responded in a matter of fact voice. “But I used to know you.” 

Her voice continued, heavily accented. Russian. John’s ears rang at the harsh words and he turned his head away. His stomach rolled.

He shook his head like a wet dog and she stopped. 

“See?” The woman spoke again, this time to her partner. “You know I’m right, Clint. It’s a classic symptom. And John, it is John now, yes?” He didn’t respond and she nodded. “Deep down John knows it too. Don’t you, John? How certain things don’t quite seem to match up.”

“I don’t –”

Clint interrupted. “When was the last time you called one of your old high school friends? Met an army buddy for drinks? Saw your parents or spoke to your sister on the phone?”

“Wha-?”

“You’re confusing him.” She chastised. “His brain hasn’t been fine tuned in a long time.” 

Clint sighed and hopped up onto the table. It rocked at his weight. He picked lazily at the bottom of his shoe with a knife.

John glanced between the two of them. “How long have I been here? What do you want?”

He thought of Sherlock. Tried not to think of the heavy weight in his gut or how Clint’s words continued to rattle in his head. 

“You’ve been gone just over a week. But in this particular room? Just over twelve hours.” She tilted her head to the side and a piece of hair bisected her cheek.

“A week?” John couldn’t remember any of it. This morning he’d gotten up, gone to work, and stopped for a bite to eat on his way to meet Sherlock. He didn’t have any missing time. He’d blinked and woken up tied to a chair, sweating like a pig. 

John needed to figure out where he was; how he could escape. He carefully moved his ankles. The ropes around his legs weren't as tight as those on his wrists. If he had a few minutes he was certain he could get them free. 

“The doctor left yesterday. Today is your last day. Congrats on a speedy recovery and the whole thing where your brains didn’t melt out your ears." Clint clapped half heartedly. John’s jaw clenched automatically. "Something like that.”

The woman glanced over at her partner as if he were an errant child. “Clint. Out. I’ll meet you in Germany. Mr. Holmes will probably have someone here soon.”

“Sherlock?” John spoke without thinking. The words ran out of his mouth and into the space between them. Had Sherlock been trying to find him for a week?

She shook her head. “No, not Sherlock.”

Mycroft. 

Sherlock had contacted his brother? His friend must be more than furious or frustrated. He had to be desperate. 

“You know, the one who would love to lock us up and throw away the key.” Clint responded dryly. “He-who-must-not-be-named. The man behind the curtain. The big bad wolf. The guy who probably has a dresser drawer full of his enemies' molars.” He bounced to his feet and adjusted his scarf. 

“Really?” She asked in a deadpanned voice. “A drawer full of molars?”

“Can’t trust the British government. They’re shifty.” He pulled on a pair of thick gloves. “I’ll head out if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” 

He eyed John one more time. “See you later. And remember to thank her. It really is for the best.”

The door opened and closed with a bang. John winced as the noise echoed painfully. 

“Thank you?" He shifted his left leg minutely. "I don’t really think-”

Without pause, she leaned across John and injected him with the syringe she still held. He cursed and jerked his left leg free. It struck her in the hip and she hopped away to avoid the brunt of it.

“I don’t want a 'thank you'.” She rubbed at the spot he'd struck. Black spots floated in front of his face and he shook his head. John's muscles relaxed against his will and his head lolled weakly to the left. Drugged. 

She crouched down until her breath was warm against his face. This close a small scar was visible near her temple. “This life suits you.”

The woman eyed him as if he were a puzzle and smiled weakly. Something about it pulled at his memory. Familiar. 

"Why?" The word was slurred. 

She rested a hand briefly on his head before turning away. He struggled to stay conscious. 

“I always repay my debts. Goodbye for now, John Watson.”


End file.
